


Gift of the Lecher

by Ningikuga



Category: That Guy with the Glasses/Channel Awesome
Genre: M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Sex Toys, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:46:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3829360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ningikuga/pseuds/Ningikuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oancitizen receives a mysterious package and opens it under the Cinema Snob's watchful eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift of the Lecher

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on the TGWTG kinkmeme on LJ.
> 
> This work is intended to depict characters/personae, not real people, and no implications about the people who write and play those characters are intended or should be inferred.

The package had arrived double-taped and slightly battered from its long journey. It bore no return address, and the stamps heralding its passage through nearly a dozen post offices on its winding route had been half-obscured by the smudges of careless handling. The barely-legible scrawl of the address was vaguely familiar, though. Oancitizen pondered throwing it out unopened, but if it was indeed from the source he suspected, that was likely to have repercussions down the line, and might possibly be a threat to public safety as well.

At any rate, he didn't have time to deal with it at the moment. It wasn't all that big, so rather than leave it on his desk and risk it exploding, leaking, or otherwise damaging his precious shelves of books, he crammed it into a corner of his luggage and threw another pair of socks over it.

By the time he got to the hotel, he'd forgotten he'd brought it with him.

\---

"I'm just saying," grumbled the voice behind him as Oancitizen slid the card-key through the lock, "while there are certainly plenty of reasons beyond just the aesthetic to use film or digital instead of tape, I think the simple fact that video looks like shit in comparison is sufficient in its own right."

"You'll get no argument form me," Oan agreed, pushing the door open. "I was merely trying to point out that the format has its own fanbase; they almost certainly fell in love with it because of its economy, but familiarity has bred a certain level of comfort with it and even affection for it, glaring though you or I might feel its flaws are." The last panel of the day had run too long by fifteen minutes, and Oan's thoughts were still full of a dozen points he would have liked to have brought up for discussion.

The Cinema Snob caught the door as it started to close. "Mind if I use your john?" he asked. "The fuckers who did the room reservations put me all the way down at the end of the hallway, and that last beer might not have been the best idea in the world."

Oan shrugged. "Go right ahead," he said, propping himself against the dresser and kicking his shoes off. All the back-and-forthing on the convention floor had worn a hole in his left sock, and he desperately needed a fresh one before venturing out again, or he was going to end up with blisters. He was fumbling in his suitcase for another pair when his hand closed on the slightly squashed package instead; he pulled it out and squinted at the nearly unreadable address as the Snob emerged from the bathroom.

"What'cha got there?" Snob asked. "Is it drinkable?"

"I seriously doubt it," Oan replied. "My best guess is that this is yet another in Hagan's long string of anti-testicular threats." He pointed at the smudgy scrawl on the label. "I think that's the postal minion's handwriting."

Snob didn't bother to suppress the chuckle. "Hagan regularly threatens your balls, does she?" he asked, grinning wryly.

"On occasion, she's done more than threaten," Oancitizen admitted. "So far, none of her castrations have been permanent, but . . ." His voice trailed off, and he shuddered.

The Cinema Snob flinched slightly and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Honestly, if Hagan stole your balls and then gave them back to you, she must have a serious soft spot for you," Snob argued. "I'm pretty sure if she ever came after, say, the Critic's, he'd just be fucked."

"Or un-fucked, as the case may be," Oan agreed. He set the package down on the bedspread beside his luggage and dug out a replacement for his torn sock.

There was a pause as Oan removed the offending bit of hosiery and set it on the nightstand. The Snob looked thoughtful, then leaned over and grabbed the package. He watched Oancitizen for a moment, then shrugged, held the package next to his ear, and shook it.

Oan shifted away. "I'm not sure that's wise," he warned.

"Probably not," the Snob agreed. "But it's not heavy enough to be a bomb." He shook it again. "There's something in here," he announced, "but it's wrapped well enough it's not rattling around very much."

"Apparently the postal minion would like to keep their job," Oan suggested.

The Snob tossed it back, and it landed on top of the suitcase with the lightest of thuds. "You should open it," he said; it sounded more like an order than a request.

Oan blinked at him, then sighed and picked up the package. Between the post office's less-than-stellar handling and having been squashed in his suitcase, there were several places where the tape was starting to curl; he slid a stubby fingernail under one and peeled it open.

Inside was a shapeless wad of bubble wrap slightly larger than his hand. He glanced at the Snob, who was watching him with a combination of vague interest and mild amusement, then went about the work of picking off yet another piece of tape and unrolling it. After four turns, a slightly lumpy piece of black and red rubber and plastic fell out, landing squarely on Oan's lap. He picked it up and peered at it; it was shaped something like a cursive capital T, with a curved and slightly bulbous stem, a loop on one end of the crossbar, and a rounded flare on the other end.

The Snob's eyebrows jumped; he let out a low whistle and grinned again. "Those aren't cheap, either," he said. "If that really is from Hagan, maybe she's trying to make it up to your balls."

Oan pondered his options, and decided to go for honesty. "I'm guessing you know what it is, then?" he asked. "Because I have no idea."

"None?" Snob asked, incredulous. "Really?"

Turning it over in his hand, Oan answered, "From the materials and your reaction, I'm guessing it's some sort of erotic novelty, but it doesn't look large enough to be a dildo. At least, not an effective one."

"Not exactly," Snob agreed. "It's not meant for girls. It's a prostate massager."

Oan twirled it slowly between his fingers again. "I don't see an on switch anywhere."

"It doesn't need one," the Snob explained, edging closer so he could point at it. "You stick the black part here up your ass. The round knob here goes against your taint, so you've got pressure on your prostate from inside and out. The red loop gives you something to hold on to when you want to pull it out or adjust it, but once it's in place, your own internal muscles move it around. It doesn't need to vibrate to do it's job." He glanced up and made eye contact with Oan. "For someone too innocent to know what it does, you're taking being sent sex toys by an evil tyrant awfully well."

"Like I said earlier, from her, this is quite mild." Oan narrowed his eyes slightly and turned to his guest. "I suppose you're familiar with these from your x-rated reviewer fare?"

"Mostly," the Snob agreed.

Oan held it out to him. "You're welcome to it, if you'd like."

"Nah," the Snob answered, waving one hand dismissively. "Those are too narrow for their length, for my taste. If I'm going to have something stuffed up my ass, I'd prefer something lots thicker than that, and rounder."

"Oh." Oancitizen drew his hand back. It really wasn't all that long, maybe four inches from the bar of the T to the tip of the business end. It certainly wasn't round, though. It looked more like a wasp-waisted exclamation point. "Well, I don't know who else to offer it to, and I certainly can't send it back to Diamanda," he mused aloud.

"Not unless you wanted it shoved up another orifice," the Snob agreed. His face shifted subtly, eyes narrowing, as his voice lowered to a purr. "You're not interested in trying it out for yourself?"

Oan felt his face turn red. "I, ah," he mumbled before clearing the frog that had suddenly appeared in his throat, "I wouldn't really know what to do with it."

"It's not that fucking hard," the Snob said, his eyes flashing a twinkle that immediately vanished again. "You slick it up, then massage your asshole with it until it relaxes enough for you to get it in, and then jack off while it's there." His voice dipped into his lower register again. "It's kind of nice," he rumbled. "You should give it a shot."

Oan was sure he was somewhere between crimson and maroon at this point; he could feel the heat rising from his cheeks. "I don't doubt that it can be quite pleasurable," he admitted. "I just - it seems as if, at the end of the process, it would be in a difficult-to-reach area, and probably slippery, and -"

He was not prepared for Snob's guffaw. "You're scared it'll get stuck, and you won't be able to get it out?" the Snob chuckled. "Oh, that's easy enough to fix. I'll just stick around, and if you need any help, I'll be right here." He fixed Oan with glittering eyes and a vulpine grin. "I won't even send the blackmail photos to anyone."

Blinking, Oancitizen pondered that. Well, if it was a bluff, it deserved to be called, and if it wasn't, what dignity had Hagan left him in that department? He straightened up. "All right," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Give me a moment to - freshen up a bit."

He'd hoped that the Snob would be at least a bit taken aback. Instead, he looked equal parts amused and predatory. "Sure thing," he said, coolly. "Do you want me to strip down, or -"

"Just taking off the jacket will be plenty," Oan said, scurrying into the bathroom before he lost his nerve.

\---

Oan stepped out of the shower and contemplated the pile of clothes gently folded on the counter next to the sink. If he was going to be doing this, it seemed silly to put them back on, but something about being completely naked in front of his colleague made him feel even more vulnerable than the fact that he was about to put a sex toy, one most likely sent him by the Lecher Bitch herself, up an unaccustomed orifice. After a moment's pause, he tugged his emerald green button-down back on, but left the placket and the cuffs unbuttoned. He wrapped the towel around his waist, decided that was clothed enough, and stepped back into the hotel room.

The Snob had, true to his word, removed only his suit coat; it had been tossed carelessly across the arm of the chair he was seated in, which had been dragged from its original position by the window up to the edge of the bed. He gave Oancitizen an exaggerated up-and-down glance, as if he were calculating a numerical rating.

"If you declare me a three out of ten," Oan said before the Snob could speak, "I'll have to tell Phelous you're pilfering his gimmick."

"If I were giving you a three, I'd have to use the Rap Critic's scale instead," the Snob replied, leaning forward and propping his chin on one hand. "At least, so far. Take that stupid towel off."

Oan inhaled slowly, resisted the urge to suck in his gut, and unwrapped the towel. He carefully avoided meeting the Snob's eyes as he folded it in half and draped it across the edge of the bed.

"Hmm," the Snob said. "Three and a half, maybe. Points off for being pasty white, though."

"I can't imagine you're much darker," Oan said, before thinking better of it. "And no, I don't want to compare." His hand closed on the spindle of silicone rubber and hard plastic. "Just - tell me what I'm supposed to do with this again?"

"Well, first we should slick it up with something," the Snob instructed. "I don't suppose you packed any lube?"

"I'm afraid not; I so rarely need it," Oan answered.

The Snob frowned and gestured towards the package. "I'm having a hard time imagining the company selling it without some," he said, "although that doesn't mean -"

"-That Hagan would have included it," Oan finished, chuckling. He peered into the remains of the package. "Nothing there," he announced.

The Snob plucked the tangled sheet of bubble wrap off of the bed and shook it. A small packet and a slip of paper fell out; he scooped up the packet and grinned. "Bingo," he announced. "Not one of your better brands, but it'll do the trick." He tossed it to Oan with a flourish.

"Of course, Hagan would only send me a one-use sample size," Oan observed as he carefully tore the packet open at one corner. "Can't risk me having too much fun." For being practically naked in front of his older and less naive counterpart, he was starting to relax a little bit. Perhaps it was simply the novelty of the situation, or its absurdity; there was something just a little surreal about it all. 

The liquid in the packet was clear, thick, and extremely slippery; Oan tried not to drip any on the carpet, but he was pretty sure he'd missed a bit. Hopefully it had landed on the towel. He gave the business end of the gadget a liberal coating and set the packet aside. "Okay, now what?"

"If you weren't an ass-virgin, I'd say just shove it up your shitter," the Snob said with a smirk, his eyes darting from Oan's face to points lower.

Oan sighed; he wasn't sure if that had been an assumption or a veiled question. "And, if I am?"

"Then shoving it is the last thing you want to do." The Snob's voice dropped half an octave, into a baritone purr. "Bend over, and see how tight you are."

Gathering an errant drip of lubricant on one finger, Oan attempted to comply. It was a rather awkward position, especially with the other hand occupied holding the massager. He felt his muscles clench involuntarily as he probed with the finger, and he must have flinched, because the Snob leaned over and murmured, "Relax, just ease into it," in a tone that was almost reassuring.

"Give me a second," Oan said. There, he could feel some of the tightness subsiding.

"Take your time," said the Snob. "No point in rushing; the whole fucking goal here is for it to feel good."

Oan forced himself to take a deep breath for a count of six, held it for a count of three, and then let it out for a count of eight. The next one came easier, and he could feel another set of muscles relaxing. "How do I know when I'm ready?" he asked, and was only slightly surprised at the trusting tone he heard in his own voice.

"If you think you're ready, try it," the Snob answered, "but if it hurts, stop. In fact, if it feels like it's about to hurt, stop."

"I think I might be." Oan swapped hands and tried to remember which way the loop went; either he got it right, or the Snob was going to have a good laugh at his expense in a minute. He rubbed the slightly bulbous silicone head against his entrance, and was surprised at how quickly the second wave of tension dissipated. He paused for one more deep breath, then started applying pressure.

It slipped in with only minor resistance. Oan gasped, rearing up for a moment; the lube was colder than he'd expected.

The Snob started to dart forward, then caught himself. "Too fast?" he asked.

"I don't think so," Oan said, looking down. The sensation was strange, but already shifting from uncomfortably full to pleasurably so; his erection had suddenly snapped to full attention. "It was - there was some discomfort, but no actual pain, and now that it's in . . ." He paused; something had tightened in his lower abdomen, and a curious pressure rippled through him.

"How does it feel?" the Snob asked.

"I'm not sure how to describe it," Oan replied. "It's - it's improving with time, though." He eased his torso back down, so he was leaning over the bed with his hands planted on the covers and his feet still on the floor. "There's a deep pressure, and then a sort of tingling sensation emanating from it. No, effervescent, not tingling. That's not quite right, either." He glanced down at his cock, now red and starting to throb in time with the ripples of pressure. "Um, do you mind if I -"

"Not at all. That's part of the point," the Snob chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "So long as I can enjoy the view, you go right on ahead."

Oan gripped himself with the hand that had more lube left on it and began working his erection, slipping the pad of his thumb over the sensitive spot just beneath the head as his palm slid back and forth. The combination of the all-too-familiar stimulation and the novel one, the curious deep pressure and the shimmering sparks of pleasure it was generating, went from interesting to delightful to overwhelming in a matter of seconds, and then he was fountaining into his own grip, his juices splattering the towel underneath him with startling force as his knees buckled.

The Snob's grin grew wider. "That good, huh, kid?" he snickered. "Okay, do you need my help getting it out of you, or -"

"Wait," Oan said, holding his weight up more by his arms than his legs. "I think - I mean . . ." He took a shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling; something in his pelvis tightened and relaxed involuntarily, sending another shower of sparks through his groin. "It still feels good," he finished.

"Oh, really?" That was no longer a grin, or even a manic smile, on the Snob's face; he was leering at his counterpart. He leaned in closer. "Well, well, well. Let's see if Oancitizen hit the backdoor jackpot!"

Oan eased himself down a little further, so that he was half-lying on the bed, half-kneeling next to it. Carefully, he tried squeezing those same pelvic muscles deliberately; a tremor of pleasure rippled through him. "Oh, sweet heavenly Mithras," he murmured as his cock went from half-mast back to erect again.

The sensations washing over him were amazingly intense. He reached down to toy with his erection again, but it was almost too sensitive; it didn't hurt, exactly, but it felt almost like an electric shock. He settled for humping the towel instead, working a slow rhythm in time with the internal throbbing.

The second orgasm didn't hit him with the speed or force of the first one, but it still arrived in a rush. His hands made fists in the covers as he cried out, a wordless yelp of pleasure. He felt his cock twitching, blossoming fresh wetness and warmth beneath him.

"I'd say that's a yes," crooned a baritone purr somewhere in front of Oan, but his attention was focused elsewhere. Conscious control was still eluding him, but his spine seemed to have gotten the hang of this, as the deep pressure began to throb in a regular pulse. His hips rolled with it in that same stately rhythm; he was faintly aware that he was still erect, but at this point phallic stimulation was almost irrelevant. His breathing was fast and deep, huge gulps of air punctuated with low moans as the pleasure gathered in him again, slowly building up like steam in a kettle.

"Yeah, that's it," the voice said, cool and smooth. "You can do it. Come for me."

The suggestion became action; a convulsion of pleasure shook Oan like an earthquake and drove him down to his foundations. The throbbing swallowed him, devoured him, drowned him, then cradled and held him as he trembled in ecstasy. 

He was vaguely aware that he wasn't really thinking, at this point; his ego, his internal analytic voice, had been shattered in that last inundation of erotic energy. There was still enough of him left to observe, though, just barely; there was a self that was experiencing the pleasure, after all. He could feel the energy building again. There seemed to be two focal points, roughly corresponding to the spot the toy was pressing against and the base of his cock; there was just enough of the analytical brain left to think, _Muladhara and Svadhisthana,_ as they began to pulse again. Lightning uncoiled from the base of his spine and spiraled through him like a tornado, and for a moment he whited out, nerves, mind, and spirit overwhelmed with the torrent of sensation.

At some point Oan must have opened his eyes, because when the light cleared, Cinema Snob's face was hovering inches away from his own. The Snob's cheeks were flushed, his pupils wide, and his breathing was hard and heavy. "Holy _shit_ ," he whispered, "you coming that hard is one of the hottest things I've ever seen. You look like you've just seen God."

The words jumpstarted something in Oan's consciousness, and suddenly he had words again. "Not anything in the usual monotheistic conception of God," he gasped, his hips still slowly grinding against the bed, "but the mystic, ecstatic experience, the aspect of the Divine the ancients named Eros, Aphrodite, Bacchus, Astarte, Inanna?" A shudder ran through him from crown to sole; he closed his eyes and groaned, then forced himself to meet the Snob's dilated gaze again. "It's not too far off from that, honestly. The annihilation of the ego through the indulgence of pleasure on the Dionysian path, rather than the abnegation through self-sacrifice on the Apollonian -"

"Dammit, just _shut up and enjoy it_ ," the Snob ordered. "Speaking of which, would you mind if I enjoyed you enjoying it?"

"I'm not sure I could handle being touched right now," Oan admitted as he shuddered again, "but please, feel free to indulge yourself."

"Fantastic," the Snob said without a trace of sarcasm. Oan heard a zipper being undone as he closed his eyes and let the undertow drag his consciousness back into the tempest in his lower chakras.

The intensity of the pressure inside carried him through the next several peaks with barely a pause between them; language had escaped him again, but the voice that echoed down from the place and time where names and words were still important was soothing, gentle, appreciative, excited. There was a second energy here, blending with his own in a small way, and there was joy in that. As the pulsing began to build again, he realized that the next one would undo him completely, and that was absolutely okay. As the nova at the base of his spine exploded, his last realization was that he was _singing_ , and so was the other voice, rising in a single crescendo.

Oancitizen had no idea how long it took him to reassemble some semblance of an ego and object permanence. Possibly no time at all, as a sense of time passing was one of the things that had to reconstruct itself before there was a him to open his eyes. It can't have taken too long, though, since the Snob was still panting, leaning against the head of the bed with one hand, the other wrapped around his softening cock.

"So fucking hot," the Snob groaned as he stuffed himself back into his trousers. "You looked so good like that, I could barely fucking stand it."

"Hold on a moment," Oan groaned. "This is starting to be uncomfortable." The overwhelming pleasure had receded like the tide, and now the gadget was merely pressed against something exquisitely tender. His earlier fears turned out to be unwarranted; finding the loop was trivially easy, and even with the amount of sweat and jizz and lube, he maintained his grip on it with no difficulties as he eased it out.

The Snob wiped his hands off on the bedspread and tucked his shirt back in. "So," he said, his voice only slightly huskier than normal, "what did you think?"

"I doubt that will become a regular part of my onanistic routine," Oan said as thoughtfully as he could through the panting, "but for special occasions, I dare say I'll be very much looking forward to it."

The pause that followed was long, but not particularly awkward, as both men let their breathing return to normal. Finally, the Snob broke the silence. "Are you just going to stay down there all day?"

"My legs appear to have turned to noodles," Oan admitted. "I don't think I can stand up just yet."

The Snob laughed, then reached across the bed and pulled Oan up until he was lying crosswise across it. "There," he chuckled, "at least you're not in danger of getting rug burns on your knees."

"Not at the moment," Oan agreed. "Although, perhaps, if you were amenable later . . . ?"

The Snob's eyebrows jumped. "I didn't think you were into that," he said flatly.

"Normally, I wouldn't be," Oan said, "but given the immense endorphin high I was just on, and you talking me through it - it seemed like something of a bonding experience, and I thought it might be mutually enjoyable to explore later. Of course, if you're not interested, I wouldn't want to pressure you in any way."

"I said nothing about not being interested," the Snob replied. "You'll have to give me a while, though - unlike some people, I actually have a refractory period."

"Of course." Oan tried to roll over and ended up flopping over instead; his hand fell onto the slip of paper that had fallen out of the packaging with the lube. Squinting, he brought it up to his face.

_Dear Oancitizen: The medical minions wanted to test whether the surgery to reattach your balls last time was successful or not. Try this out and send us back a sample in a baggie or something. I promise not to use it to clone you. - D.H._

Oan smiled, then broke down in a hail of hysterical giggles. The Snob snatched the paper from his hand and read it, his eyes tracking across the slip, and groaned. 

"Well, now we'll have to do something," Oan gasped between giggle fits, "or she'll know I didn't follow her directions."

"Oh, I'm sure we can think of something to get her a sample," the Snob agreed. "But we'd better wait a day or two for that. You ran out of cum halfway through."

"I can be quite patient," Oan assured him.

The Snob smiled and brushed Oan's sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead. "I'll just bet you can."


End file.
